I’m a fricking mess. The fact that I walk around without inflicting serious bodily harm to myself is a miracle I will never understand. I also will never understand why “minute rice” takes 15 minutes to make.
A little misleading don’t you think?
I try hard to be normal and not make a mess of things, but it doesn’t always work out that way.
Tonight I curled up on the couch with a blanket, a glass of milk, and the most recent episode of Project Runway. Okay, I also had a 100 calorie pack of Hostess cupcakes….or two packs. Don’t judge. Those packs are small.
My husband was in the other room, as he doesn’t like to watch Project Runway. I think it’s because he hates my Tim Gunn impressions of “Make it work” and “Thank you Mood.”
Either that, or he gets annoyed when I yell “Sew bitches!” as the designers work on their looks.
I like to think I’m motivating them, and since I stood outside the tents at Fashion Week a few weeks ago, I feel a connection to them.
Tonight, I tried to slowly eat the cupcakes, but considering they’re the approximate size of a stick of gum, I went through the desserts quite quickly.
I downed my milk in an effort to convince my stomach I was full and not still craving more chocolaty goodness.
I then picked up the remote control to move it out of my way when I heard a splash. What was that?
I looked down and saw I dropped the remote into my large glass of milk. Oops!
The first thing that crossed my mind, aside from the immediate question of whether I could still drink the milk. was my curiosity as to whether my husband heard the debacle.
If he came out and saw the mess I made, he would kill me.
My fear of death was magnified because I was already on the verge of being forbidden from eating or drinking outside the kitchen.
Honestly, I don’t know what the big deal was: the wine-stained couch cushion that precipitated the ban easily turned over and no one can even see the stain.
I froze in fear and listened for movement in the other room. The sounds of my husband’s snores were a welcome relief, and I’ve never been so happy he falls asleep in 30 seconds.
After celebrating that my husband wouldn’t discover my mistake, I realized I needed to save the remote. I was hopeful if it broke, I could blame it on him, although it would be a tough sell.
I’m such an easy explanation for anything broken or stained.
I used to be certified in CPR from my days of teaching aerobics, but the remote wouldn’t respond to chest compresions to the beat of Rhianna. I needed another remedy.
I held it up and began shaking it. Milk flew out of every button, landing all over me and the rug.
I wasn’t worried about the rug, as it was predominately covered with dog pee. A top coat of curdled milk wouldn’t hurt anything.
I began pressing buttons to see if they worked, and was delighted to discover they did. I wasn’t so happy to learn that in my frantic button pushing, I accidentally changed the language choice to Spanish. Seriously?!
Although I’ve recently started taking a French class, I wasn’t fluent in other languages and had no clue how to change it back to English. Matt would figure out the new language choice was my doing.
Fortunately it worked, and I was able to change it back to English without purchasing anything on Pay Per View. Or at least I hope so.
I’m not sure how I will explain the purchase of Klitty Litter on the cable bill.
I’m also trying to figure out what excuse to give if the remote doesn’t work tomorrow.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed he won’t read my blog and I can blame the broken remote on global warming or the bankers on Wall Street.